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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506825">all my heart finds true</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwanna_seeyou_undoit/pseuds/gentleau'>gentleau (iwanna_seeyou_undoit)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Orange_one/pseuds/the_Orange_one'>the_Orange_one</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Formula 1 RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Letters, Love Letters, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:33:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwanna_seeyou_undoit/pseuds/gentleau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Orange_one/pseuds/the_Orange_one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2023 a letter is delivered to Daniel’s farm in Perth, a plain business envelope stuffed full and slightly crumpled from the journey.</p><p>It must be something pretty important, to be that long.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all my heart finds true</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>part i: BEFORE (Max)</h3><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d always imagined having World Champion after his name would feel triumphant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lewis always carried himself with a poise and a surety that Max felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>certain </span>
  </em>
  <span>came with his titles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been dreaming of this for his whole life, the feeling of looking at the scoreboard and trusting the maths, trusting that he was good enough, strong enough, the best enough to conquer the final hill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For years, it’s felt like a mountain. And when he finally got the chance to stand at the top of it, he’d look forward, a shiny horizon, opportunity and the rest of his life, satisfaction and completion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached the summit last season. Alex fought George off for third in the championship and picked up Valterri’s old seat as a reward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red Bull is finally back where it should be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing to complain about. It’s not like they’re going to let their World Champ (finally) go without a fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should be enough. They’re in contention for the constructors title again. If Max gets lucky with a few safety cars and strategic retirements, he could fight for another title himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t feel this adrift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lando had asked him, a few weeks ago, if it was jealousy. It had prickled Max, that easy assumption that he had something to be jealous </span>
  <em>
    <span>of</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If the answer had been no, perhaps he’d have laughed it off. But the truth of it is, Max is finally watching himself from the outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No longer is he - Max Verstappen, eighteen year old shooting star - rising to the front of the pack, dragging his car along and so help anyone who tries to stop him. No longer is he the sole, most important focus of his team. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped into his predestined title of champion one day, and into the position of mentor, teacher, leader the next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should be everything he wanted. The name Max Verstappen means something entirely different, now. He has respect, recognition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never considered that being a teacher meant being prepared to step back, to let the student surpass you, rise to fill their own shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never expected it to happen so fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a moment of perfect crystalline clarity when he’s on lap 40, poised over his radio button, fuming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Max. Let Charlie by, now. Let Charlie by.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been fighting with the guys in second and third for laps. He’s certain he can take them on the next DRS straight. The last few races, his teammate, Charlie (Charlotte, in so many ways a carbon copy of Max in his early days) has finished ahead of him. It’s the first time he’s been told to let her past like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get along, she’s a laugh. Lights up the paddock, moves like a rocket, talks like one, too. Is incapable of letting a silence sit. And she’s a force behind the wheel. Max saw her test at the start of the season and had to pick his jaw off the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s a marvel, truly, and if she wasn’t his direct competition maybe he would have tried to make something work with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that they don’t talk. Their PR sessions always take three times as long as they need to, because they don’t stop. But when they leave the track, they leave the track. Max has Charlie’s number, but only to exchange notes about the car, remind her to set an alarm so she doesn’t run late to </span>
  <em>
    <span>another </span>
  </em>
  <span>meeting with Helmut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It used to be Max who needed reminding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The long and the short of it is this: Max is beginning to understand why Daniel had left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sharing the thrill of the win with Alex there, grinning at him, lifting him feet in the air, slinging an arm so easily around his shoulders, it was nice but it wasn’t Daniel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max has spent seasons wondering what it is that’s missing. Wondering why his apartment is full of trophies and everything he’s ever wanted, while there’s a hollowness in his chest. He should be fulfilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He figured it was dating. Seems like everyone in the paddock who he grew up with is partnered up and settled down. Hell, even Lando has a long-term relationship. So he tried dating. Made the embarrassing mistake of calling Dilara up, asking if she thought they should give it another go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie laughed at him for that, called him an idiot. “Just get on Tinder like normal people, fuck sake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turns out, Tinder is fine for a few weeks of fun but it always ends with Max eating takeout alone in front of his TV, enjoying it more than grinding up on a near-stranger in a club so dark he can barely make out the smudge of her mascara. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been on so many dates that he’s begun to wonder if he can’t make any of it stick because there’s something missing in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugs on that thought, for days. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What does a relationship even look like for him? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an answer lingering in the corners of his mind, making itself known at night, that he studiously ignores. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie asks him about Daniel with a frequency that might be embarrassing if she weren’t so genuine about it. She was only eight when Daniel entered Formula 1, a little Australian girl dreaming about being the next name in motorsport. She’s never met Daniel, as far as Max can tell, but she talks like she knows him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max only has four years on her but it feels like a lifetime. Is this what Daniel had felt, when Max showed up? A thousand years old, saddled with a responsibility he’s terrified he’s going to mess up? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s as genuine as he seems in real life, isn’t he?” Charlie starts every question about Daniel like a statement. Like she already knows, she’s just seeking Max’s approval. And since when did he become the authority on Daniel? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. Yeah, he was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Framing Daniel in the past tense hurts like hell. It’s not like he’s dropped off the face of the earth, but well… most days it feels like he might as well have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They still like each other’s posts. The day Daniel stopped commenting under every one of Max’s pictures passed without him even realising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How many movies has he watched where the people stop talking and don’t notice until years have passed? He never imagined he would be one of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they still text. Can he say they still text if the last message he got from Daniel was to wish him happy New Year? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it’s pretty weird for you, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max looks up from the laptop in front of him. He feels like Alex must have done - pouring over data, week in week out, trying to find somewhere to improve, a corner where he can make up a few milliseconds, a braking point where he can shave a few off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, another Aussie teammate. Talented and beautiful, too! It must be like seeing Daniel everyday, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max jokes with her, because it’s what teammates do, and it’s so much easier to make her smile than it is to wallow in whatever is going on with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decides after the Monaco race. They bring home a 1-2 finish for the team, Charlie toothy and beaming on the top step of the podium, Max thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>if he’d just had one more lap… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie’s apartment in Monaco is in a different building than Max’s. It’s a small blessing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tells the team that he can feel a cold coming on, wants to get an early night and nip it in the bud. He watches Charlie lead the victory contingent into town, all of them buzzing off the win. It’s selfish to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>that used to be me, that should be me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks it anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he started to understand when Charlie joined the team, he fully gets it now. Why Daniel had to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staying somewhere you’re not leading is hard. Some days Max finds himself almost snapping at Charlie. Sometimes he actually does. She takes it on the chin, retreats to let him pull himself back together, doesn’t resent him for it. As if her on-track performance hasn’t proven how much stronger she is than Max. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max can’t remember Daniel’s anger. Maybe he hid it better. Maybe Max is looking back in a rose tinted mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been the one doing most of the yelling. When Max DNFed and Daniel won. When Max braked in Daniel’s path. When Daniel DNFed and Max felt bad for getting in the points. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Daniel left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel had kept making him try to understand, kept explaining himself over and over and over, and all Max heard was all the ways he was too good and yet not good enough. He heard resentment and jealousy and abandonment, if he’s honest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honesty, he’s finding, requires more vulnerability than he’d ever thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max has always said he’s honest - that he says what he means, isn’t willing to sugar coat much. He knows it gets him in trouble but for the most part he thinks people appreciate it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being honest with his thoughts is a whole different ball game than being honest with his feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in Monaco, sitting alone in his apartment, watching an advert for a movie he remembers Daniel always talking about, he decides to try finally being honest, to hold the door open should Daniel want to use it, instead of plastering over the hole, waiting for him to give up and bust through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a few months since Daniel’s last text. If Max wants him, he’s going to have to do the work himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It starts out as Max writing a list, just to himself, on the back of a receipt, of things he wants to say to Daniel. </span>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>How do I say I’m sorry that I didn’t know what to apologise for?</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>And if I said that I do, now, would you believe it?</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he’s in Austria, finishing ahead of Charlie by the skin of his teeth, taking the first place trophy like a lifeline, the receipt has grown into a page in the notebook his mum gives him every year for Christmas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fills two whole pages before he realises what he’s writing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do you call the opposite of a Dear John letter? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d thought it would be easy. He doesn’t have to face Daniel, it’s just him, at the dining table he never uses because he has no one to eat across from. It should feel no different to writing a shopping list. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not easy. He’s not just writing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used to think Daniel must have hated every second at Red Bull. Hell, at the start of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this year </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d been especially certain of it. At least, for Max, the team supports him and Charlie equally. They’ve grown alongside Max, it seems. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Daniel, it was more difficult. But ‘difficult’ doesn’t mean it was terrible all the time. Max is learning that. Charlie is teaching him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to remind Daniel of those Not Terrible times - laughing on camera and off, falling into and over each other, living out of and in each other’s pockets. There was a time that when Max couldn’t find his socks, he could knock on Daniel’s door and know they’d be in his suitcase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And once he starts, he can’t rein himself back in. Max has kept these memories under lock and key, even from himself. He’s protected them in the dark recesses of his mind and the fragile edges of his heart, not wanting to touch them, like if he looks too close he’ll discover they were papier-mâché lies he made up to make himself feel better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he has given himself permission, they come tumbling out. The ones that dance at the edges of his day to day life, the ones reporters like to bring up, the ones caught on camera. Others that he still has in an album on his phone. He writes until his hand hurts. He goes to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep brings new memories to him, like his brain had just been waiting for the day Max finally gave it permission to unspool the thread of those three years fighting next to Daniel. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was it only three years?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like so much more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The letter comes everywhere with him. Charlie keeps asking if he’s writing an autobiography. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pride of the Paddock</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she slides into the seat next to him at the canteen. “You know, because you’re Red Bull’s head lion. I bet you could get Lando to design you a real sick cover for it, too. I can test read it for you, if you’re worried you can’t write. Or ghost write it. You can just dictate it to me, you tell me all your stories anyway. Actually, I bet I could write it without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max tucks the pages into his notebook and spares a thought to Charlie’s race engineer. He’d thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was bad on the radio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realises, four pages in, that it isn’t going to work if he just plays their highlight reel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is his apology, his olive branch, his white flag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max can’t keep running from the mess they’d made. The mess he’d taken a starring role in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers the exhaustion in Daniel’s voice, as he explained (again) why he was leaving, that he wasn’t running </span>
  <em>
    <span>from </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything, he was going toward an opportunity, taking a step in a different direction, not being pushed back but making a strategic retreat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers Daniel saying that just because Max didn’t understand, didn’t mean his reasons weren’t true, weren’t real for Daniel.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max understands, now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tells Daniel how well Charlie is doing, tells him that she’s a fucking pit viper, small and unobtrusive and strong enough to fell a lion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He explains the contradiction in his heart - the parts of him that resent her but are still bursting with pride at everything she’s achieving; the fact that she actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> achieve what Max failed to do. </span>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Only three more races, I guess, and we’ll know. If I finish behind her, she’ll be the youngest world champ. Youngest and female. Can you believe it? </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he is saying, without saying it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You tread this path to show me the way, and I never knew I needed leading until now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He owes Daniel an explanation. For pulling away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had given himself a few days to be angry. His mum always told him if you have to, go to bed angry, but don’t let the week start on your anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d figured it would be weird for the first race with Daniel at Renault. He’d give them both time to sit in that, and then he’d catch up to Daniel walking into the paddock, and it would be just like old times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he’d looked at Daniel, in Melbourne, and they no longer matched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated that, for a long time. He never caught up to him, not really, not even when he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s scared this is too little, too late. He writes it anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- </span>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>I’m sorry I’m stubborn. It’s not in my nature to forgive easily.</em>  </p>
  <p>(<em>There wasn’t anything to forgive you for. I still do, though.)</em></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>He hopes it makes sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie wins at the next race. She finishes fourth in the next, which would be a relief if Max didn’t take a spin around a chicane and end up barely scraping seventh. </span>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>She’s really going to do it. </em>
    <em><strike>Guess you and I are just going to have to share the one world title between us.</strike> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strike>
      <em>I tried to get a second one. For you.</em>
      
    </strike>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I bet Australia is proud.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The letter has been with him for months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is it the most well-travelled apology in history? It certainly will be, by the time it reaches Daniel, all the way across the ocean, so far away he might as well be under a different sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s started re-reading it in his down time. Charlie has finally stopped asking him about it. He reads the desperation in himself, considers throwing the whole thing out and just sending a text. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>hey. overheard lando on the phone with you. how are you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel has always been the brightest of the two of them - uniformed in yellow and then in orange, thriving in ways he couldn’t with Max breathing down his neck. He is sunshine and wonder, and Max always assumed that was all he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s learned it for what it is: a defence mechanism. He let Daniel hide behind the glare of his own light. You can’t look too close at the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel hid his shade. He left to hide it. He left to spare them both the fall out of the eclipse. </span>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Remember when we ….</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>It really hurt me when ….</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I still think about that time we ….</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Do you?</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>He misses him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He misses </span>
  <em>
    <span>them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been ten months. It’s been four years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has taken Max months to be happy with the letter. He hopes it’s enough. </span>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>I was scared. I’m not scared anymore. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>My number is still the same. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>And he means his phone number, where Daniel’s last </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy New Year mate! </span>
  </em>
  <span>sits, unreplied to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he also means his race number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The repetition of the three - Daniel and Daniel (Daniel his teammate, and the other Daniel, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>Daniel, whatever that means), with Max, always. Beside him, making him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to ask Lando to check Daniel’s address is still the same. It is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pays for tracking and watches the most tense race of his career - the path of his words across the Pacific Ocean. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<h3>(the letter)</h3><p> </p><p>
  <span>The letter is delivered to Daniel’s farm in Perth, a plain business envelope stuffed full and slightly crumpled from the journey. The postie who delivers it marvels at the sight. It’s been years since they’ve delivered an actual letter. They slide it into the mailbox, to be hidden beneath a pile of bills and a flier from the local hardware store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must be something pretty important, to be that long.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<h3>part ii: AFTER (Daniel)</h3><p> </p><p>
  <span>Daniel calls Max immediately after he finishes reading. He maybe should’ve waited a couple minutes, because he has no idea what he’s going to say when or if Max picks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He listens to the line ring for long seconds, his heart in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My number is still the same,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Max had said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Max says, from halfway around the world. Daniel doesn’t remember the time conversion off the top of his head anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Daniel says, still breathless from the letter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grasps for something else to say, but there’s really only one reason he would be calling. He gets right to the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still in Monaco?” he asks.</span>
</p><p><span>He can hear Max’s breathing on the other end of the phone and it’s throwing him off, the reminder that Max</span> <span>is right there. It’s been a long, long time since they last spoke.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” says Max. “I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna be there next month. Can we— do you want to meet up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Max. His response is immediate and sure. Daniel can’t help but think Max has grown since the last time they talked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Daniel says, overwhelmed with relief. “Okay, good.” He’s well aware Max can probably hear the smile in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max swallows before he says his next words, and Daniel hears it as if they were in the same room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel has to close his eyes and lean back against his pillows. He presses himself against his headboard and bites his lips. He hadn’t realized how much he had, but— “I missed you, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no reason not to say it. It’s out there now, how they both feel. Max had written his letter and Daniel had called. Neither of them can take it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s Charlie doing?” Daniel asks. He doesn’t want to think about how little they have in common anymore, but he knows they can still talk about racing. If nothing else, they’ll have that to fall back on when they meet up in Monaco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max chuckles under his breath. “She’s… she’s crazy. She’s really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I bet.” Daniel smiles at the grudging affection in Max’s voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has so much energy,” Max says. “It’s like she’s always on. I don’t know how she does it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel can’t help it, he laughs. “You’re getting old, mate!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max laughs, too. “No, I’m not!” he exclaims. “I can’t help it that she’s just insane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel smiles to himself. He hardly knows her, but Charlotte reminds him so much of how Max was when he first came into Red Bull. When she hits the track, everyone stops to watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel’s glad she has Max in the team to take a bit of the heat for her. Daniel could never do the same for Max when he was at Red Bull. He was never extolled as a future great, never weighed down by the wild within him, but Max and Charlotte are the same kind of storm. They’re two of a kind. He knows she’s in good hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They keep chatting for a while about nothing in particular, but eventually Max says he needs to go. He sounds like he doesn’t want to hang up. Daniel knows the feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you in a month,” he tells Max.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Text me your flight info,” Max says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel puts his phone down and picks up the letter again. He’d had it sitting on the bed next to him while they were talking, and one of the pages' corners is creased from where he’d been worrying it between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d tried to open the letter at his dining room table, like he does with all the rest of his mail, but as soon as he’d slid it out of the envelope he’d known this was something that warranted a bit more privacy. So he’d retreated to his bedroom. Taken Max’s words with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The letter spans pages. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>pages </span>
  </em>
  <span>long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still recognizes Max’s handwriting, beloved from days long past. A lot of it is crossed out, and it’s written in several different pens, the ink bleeding and smudged across the page and growing steadily messier the more vulnerable Max gets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max recalls their days in Red Bull, which Daniel expected. What Daniel doesn’t expect is for Max to have been paying such close attention to what happened to Daniel at Renault and McLaren. He tells Daniel about it as if he was right there with him. It surprises Daniel just as much as the fact that it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Max</span>
  </em>
  <span> who’s reaching out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d drifted apart while Daniel was at Renault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if Daniel’s being honest, Max had pulled away. But Daniel had let him go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Max’s emotions are all laid out around him on the bed, in black and blue and in their permanence and their impermanence. In his sincerity and, yes, his insincerity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Max couldn’t tell Daniel he misses him like a normal person. It always was all or nothing with him. Daniel privately wonders how long Max has felt this way, so clearly longing for Daniel, or for the idea of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s so much Max is saying in this letter, both within and between the lines. So much Daniel had never anticipated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel gets out of bed and goes for a run so that when he returns, the flush in his cheeks is from exertion and not because of a man who lives halfway around the world. He takes a shower and feels Max begin to take up residence in his mind for the first time in years. Breathing deeply, he begins to accept that this is real.</span>
</p><p>-</p><p>
  <span>Everywhere Daniel goes in the weeks leading up to his trip to Europe, there’s a persistent itch in the back of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re going to be with Max again soon,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re going to be with Max. You’re going to be with Max.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d call it anxiety if it weren’t so exhilarating.</span>
</p><p>-</p><p>
  <span>Lando texts Daniel a couple days later.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>oi, you didn’t tell me you were coming to monaco?? some friend you are</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel has no idea how Lando found out. His trip is meant to be a stop on his way home from the UK, and it was a last-minute addition at that. Zak had called him last week about something Daniel mentioned offhand at the end of last season, one thing led to another, and now Daniel is flying out to McLaren to talk about job opportunities after having been retired for less than a year.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i’m only going to be there for a day</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>i’m meeting up with max</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lando knows all about how Daniel and Max failed to reconnect when they drifted apart in the years following Daniel’s move to Renault back in 2019. Lando’s always been Max’s friend first, but Daniel trusts him too. He’s hoping they’re the kind of friends who’ll stay close even now that Daniel has retired. And who knows, maybe he’ll even be back in the paddock with McLaren next year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel watches Lando’s typing bubble pop up and disappear several times. The text that eventually comes through is rather succinct for the amount of time Lando had spent on it.</span>
</p><p><em><span>im glad.</span></em> <em><span>i think he just really needed you close again</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Daniel chooses not to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That much he probably could have gathered from the letter itself, but to see it stated so plainly in a handful of words rather than the tidal force of Max’s soul bared on ten pages of lined paper, it makes him face up to what it means in a way he hadn’t quite grasped yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You're going to see Max soon,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks again. It tastes different every time.</span>
</p><p>-</p><p>
  <span>Daniel lands in Nice and takes the train that follows the coastline up to Monaco. It’s the first time he’s taken public transit into the city and it’s strange to not have hired a car and driven there himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being back in Monaco is weird now that he’s not in F1 anymore. It’s odd to be somewhere that’s so familiar, yet still feels as though he doesn’t belong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel walks from the station to the cafe he’d always thought of as his favorite, the one overlooking the waterfront and just around the corner from the yacht club. Max had suggested they meet there, and it had made Daniel smile because he was the one who showed him this cafe back when Max first moved to Monaco. Back when they were living just a few floors away from each other. Back when they couldn’t fling a hand out without smacking the other in the chest most days because they were together so often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though Daniel has been thinking about meeting Max nearly every day for the last three weeks, it’s still something completely different seeing him in person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel has camped out at one of the tables farthest towards the cliff, back in the corner, and is trying to take a good picture of Monte Carlo through the trees that are blocking out the sun over the patio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max arrives from the same direction Daniel had come, walking up the hill wearing sunglasses that Daniel doesn’t recognize except from Max’s occasional posts on Instagram. Daniel’s at an advantage because he’s got another hundred meters or so before Max will be able to notice, so Daniel just looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max is the same age now as Daniel was when he first joined Red Bull, all those years ago, although you’d never guess it. Max is a world champion now, has double the podiums Daniel ever achieved. The only thing Daniel can say for his 25-year-old self is that maybe he could grow facial hair a little better by then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Max looks really good. He’s stockier than when Daniel had seen him last, having lost a bit of that adolescent stickman frame. It’s still before noon, so the sun hits Max face-on as he mounts the hill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks beautiful. Every bit the self-assured young man Daniel remembers. He’s wearing shorts even though it’s not quite warmed up yet, and a dark short sleeve button-down over a white T-shirt. It makes something tighten in his chest to see Max in such a casual setting after such a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Max gets close enough to sight him, Daniel raises a hand in greeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max takes his sunglasses off and comes right up to Daniel’s table. He nudges his foot against Daniel’s in a move that’s not quite a kick. More of a hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you,” he says, and there’s a brilliant smile hidden in the squint of his eyes and the tiny flex of cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, mate,” Daniel says, and stands. He takes Max’s hand when he offers it, not quite a handshake, more of a clasp. Their fingers tangle awkwardly but Daniel doesn’t really mind. Max gives half a soft laugh and then drops Daniel’s hand again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look good,” says Max, not taking his eyes off Daniel’s face. Daniel knows he’s changed physically since the days they were teammates, his hair is greyer and his laugh lines deeper, but Max seems not to see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel smiles, and they’re not back to normal, not quite, but they’re somewhere closer to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max leads them into the cafe and then turns back to Daniel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you just got off your flight so— I mean. Do you want to take these to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel looks at him questioningly, waiting for him to elaborate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to my apartment,” Max clarifies, and, oh. Max is inviting him back to his apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Daniel says. He’s not sure what all his answer entails but he means it regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” Max smiles and they step up to order.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They each pay for their own coffees, which helps Daniel feel a little more normal about this whole situation, and then walk back down the hill towards Monaco proper, winding through the streets and blowing on their coffee, talking about Daniel’s flight and Max’s off-week plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max’s new apartment is farther into the city than their old building was. It’s an older building, one with character, and Daniel smiles to himself when he thinks about Max picking an apartment without an ocean view just because he hates that the ones overlooking the harbor look so much like a hotel. Daniel has to remind himself that Max has lived here for a few years now. It’s not actually new, it’s just new to Daniel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He follows Max into the elevator and absently hums at Max’s story about the shit he’s been getting from Lando about replacing his old racing sim. It’s a stupid story. But the conversation they’re meant to be having shouldn’t happen in an elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max’s kitchen is just as unfurnished as Daniel expected, but there are colorful drawings in crayon and washable marker held onto the fridge with little magnets made from air dry clay. He asks if they’re from Max’s younger siblings and Max’s smile when he talks about them is all unbridled love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel finishes his coffee while Max is talking and sets it on the counter behind him, just leaning there while Max continues to talk. Daniel watches his face move, taking in all the little pieces of Max he'd forgotten over the years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to take that?” Max offers, holding a hand out for the disposable cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel hands it over and Max moves to throw both cups away in the bin under the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens one of the cabinets, but Daniel doesn’t want to continue making small talk over glasses of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves up behind Max and puts his arms around his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rests his chin on Max's shoulder. They're just about the same height.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," murmurs Daniel. He's not sure how to express 'you confessed your love to me in a letter and I flew around the world to see if you meant it' beyond just this. His arms around Max. His hands on Max's stomach and chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max takes a shaky breath in, and slides a hand up to hold onto one of Daniel's. The falter in Max's breath just about kills Daniel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel’s been wondering how long Max has wanted him for, but now he thinks the answer doesn't matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me turn around," Max says, and Daniel loosens his arms just enough for Max to turn so they're facing each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max immediately puts his arms around Daniel's shoulders, and Daniel's hands find the same spots on Max's back. One at waist level. One spanning the slope of a shoulder blade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max tightens his arms a little and Daniel lets himself be taken in. He presses his face into the crook of Max's neck and breathes deeply, just holding on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel feels Max squeeze him tighter, and closes his fists in Max's shirt in response. They cling to one another, firmly grounded in Max's kitchen, Max's breathing right up against Daniel's skin behind his ear. Daniel lets out a deep breath and unclenches his fists. Max exhales with him, and relaxes his own grip around Daniel's shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand together for another minute. Maybe it's more. Daniel loses time surrounded by Max's body, Max's proximity, his strong crooked fingers, the hair on his shins, the tick of his watch, the catch of his beard against Daniel's cheekbone, the rhythmic squeeze of his breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them make a move to pull away. It's as if maybe if they stand here long enough, it will make up for lost time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't known he was missing this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd begun to suspect it, after reading Max's letter. But he knows it now, with certainty. Daniel feels the years fall away. His body remembers Max's arm around his back, the breadth of Max's chest pressed against his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds onto Max, keeping him close where he belongs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel stays over, by some silent mutual agreement, and they sleep in Max’s bed together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t really touch, keeping to their own sides of the bed while they pillowtalk, but Max reaches out a hand between them on the mattress as they’re falling asleep and it makes Daniel’s heart flip in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning Daniel wakes up first, which isn’t surprising in the least, and wanders around Max’s apartment exploring how he’s using the space. He finds a home office of sorts, which shouldn’t be charming, but absolutely is. The desk looks practically untouched, but there’s half a stack of Post-its next to a Sharpie and a hotel branded ballpoint pen, and on an impulse Daniel jots out a quick three-word note and peels the top note off of the stack. He doubles back to sign it with a smiley face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel starts Max’s coffee maker, hoping he’s hitting the right buttons, and then crawls back into bed. He kisses Max’s forehead and when he pulls away to watch Max blink awake, he smooths the Post-it over the kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max wrinkles his nose and pulls it off. “Good morning,” he mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel watches as Max reads the Post-it and turns a delicious shade of pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Daniel whispers through a smile, and leans in to kiss him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>find us on tumblr! <a href="https://pierreswrists.tumblr.com">gentleau</a> &amp; <a href="https://shoeydaniel.tumblr.com">orange</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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